by Mike Resnick
“That’s what we’re here for,” agreed Roosevelt. “In fact, I think the time has come to begin formulating an approach to the problem. So far we’ve just been speaking in generalizations; we must have some definite plan to present to the men when we’re fully assembled.” He paused. “Let’s take another look at that map.”
Boyes withdrew a map from his pocket and unfolded it.
“This will never do,” said Roosevelt, trying to study the map as the wind kept whipping through it. “Let’s find a table.”
Boyes ordered two of the natives to set up a table and a pair of chairs, and a moment later he and Roosevelt were sitting side by side, with the map laid out on the table and held in place by four small rocks.
“Where are we now?” asked Roosevelt.
“Right about here, sir,” answered Boyes, pointing to their location. “The mountains are the dividing line between Uganda and the Congo. We’ll have to concentrate our initial efforts in the eastern section.”
“Why?” asked Roosevelt. “If we move here”—he pointed to a more centrally-located spot—”we’ll have access to the Congo River.”
“Not practical,” answered Boyes. “Most of the tribes in the eastern quarter of the country understand Swahili, and that’s the only native language most of our men will be able to speak. Once we get inland we’ll run into more than two hundred dialects, and if they speak any civilized language at all, it’ll be French, not English.”
“I see,” said Roosevelt. He paused to consider this information, then stared at the map again. “Now, where does the East African Railway terminate?”
“Over here,” said Boyes, pointing. “In Kampala, about halfway through Uganda.”
“So we’ll have to extend the railway or build a road about 300 miles or more to reach a base in the eastern section of the Congo?”
“That’s a very ambitious undertaking, Mr. President,” said Boyes dubiously.
“Still, it will have to be done. There’s no other way to bring in the equipment we’ll need.” Roosevelt turned to Boyes. “You look doubtful, John.”
“It could take years. The East African Railway wasn’t called the Lunatic Line without cause.”
Roosevelt smiled confidently. “They called it the Lunatic Line because only a lunatic would spend one thousand pounds per mile of track. Well, if there’s one thing Americans can build, it’s railroads. We’ll do it for a tenth of the cost in a fiftieth of the time.”
“If you extend it from Kampala, you’ll have to run it over the Mountains of the Moon,” noted Boyes.
“We ran railroads over the Rocky Mountains almost half a century ago,” said Roosevelt, dismissing the subject. “Now, are there any major cities in the eastern sector? Where’s Stanleyville?”
“Stanleyville could be on a different planet, for all the commerce it has with the eastern Congo,” replied Boyes. “In fact, most of the Belgian settlements are along the Congo River”—he pointed out the river—”which, as you can see, doesn’t extend to the eastern section. There are no railways, no rivers, and no roads connecting the eastern sector to the settlements.” He paused. “Initially, this may very well work to our advantage, as it could be months before news of anything we may do will reach them.”
“Then what is in the east?”
Boyes shrugged. “Animals and savages.”
“We’ll leave the animals alone and elevate the savages,” said Roosevelt. “What’s the major tribe there?”
“The Mangbetu.”
***
“Do you know anything about them?”
“Just that they’re as warlike as the Maasai and the Zulu. They’ve conquered most of the other tribes.” He paused. “And they’re supposed to be cannibals.”
“We’ll have to put a stop to that,” said Roosevelt. He flashed Boyes another grin. “We can’t have them going around eating registered voters.”
“Especially Republicans?” suggested Boyes with a chuckle.
“Especially Republicans,” agreed Roosevelt. He paused. “Have they had much commerce with white men?”
“The Belgians leave them pretty much alone,” answered Boyes. “They killed the first few civil servants who paid them a visit.”
“Then it would be reasonable to assume that they will be unresponsive to our peaceful overtures?”
“I think you could say so, yes.”
“Then perhaps we can draw upon your expertise, John,” said Roosevelt. “After all, Kikuyuland was also hostile to white men when you first entered it.”
“It was a different situation,” explained Boyes. “They were warring among themselves, so I simply placed myself and my gun at the disposal of one of the weaker clans and made myself indispensable to them. Once word got out that I had sided with them and turned the tide of battle, they knew they’d be massacred if I left, so they begged me to stay, and one by one we began assimilating the other Kikuyu clans until we had unified the entire nation.” He paused. “The Mangbetu are already united, and I very much doubt that they would appreciate any interference from us.” He stared thoughtfully at Roosevelt. “And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“I didn’t enter Kikuyuland to bring them the benefits of civilization. The East African Railway needed supplies for 25,000 coolie laborers, and all I wanted to do was find a cheap source of food that I could resell. I was just trying to make a living, not to change the way the Kikuyu lived.” He paused. “African natives are a very peculiar lot. You can shoot their elephants, pull gold and diamonds out of their land, even buy their slaves, and they don’t seem to give a damn. But once you start interfering with the way they live, you’ve got a real problem on your hands.”
“There’s an enormous difference between American democracy and European colonialism,” said Roosevelt firmly.
“Let’s hope the residents of the Congo agree, sir,” said Boyes wryly.
“They will,” said Roosevelt. “You know, John, this enterprise was initially your suggestion. If you feel this way, why have you volunteered to help me?”
“I’ve made and lost three fortunes on this continent,” answered Boyes bluntly. “Some gut instinct tells me that there’s another one to be made in the Congo. Besides,” he added with a smile, “it sounds like a bully adventure.”
Roosevelt laughed at Boyes’ use of his favorite term. “Well, at least you’re being honest, and I can’t ask for more than that. Now let’s get back to work.” He paused, ordering his thoughts. “It seems to me that as long as the Mangbetu control the area, it makes sense to work through them, to use them as our surrogates until we can educate all the natives.”
“I suppose so,” said Boyes. “Still, we can’t just walk in there, tell them that we’re bringing them the advantages of civilization, and expect a friendly reception.”
“Why not?” said Roosevelt confidently. “The direct approach is usually best.”
“They’re predisposed to dislike and distrust you, Mr. President.”
“They’re predisposed to dislike and distrust Belgians, John,” answered Roosevelt. “They’ve never met an American before.”
“I don’t think they’re inclined to differentiate between white men,” said Boyes.
“You’re viewing them as Democrats,” said Roosevelt with a smile. “I prefer to think of them as uncommitted voters.”
“I think you’d be better advised to think of them as hostile—and hungry.”
“John, when I was President, I used to have a saying: Walk softly, but carry a big stick.”
“I’ve heard it,” acknowledged Boyes.
“Well, I intend to walk softly among the Mangbetu—but if worst comes to worst, we’ll be carrying fifty big sticks with us.”
“I wonder if fifty guns will be enough,” said Boyes, frowning.
“We’re not coming to slaughter them, John—merely to impress them.”
“We might impress them more if we waited for some of your engineers and Rough Riders
to show up.”
“Time is a precious commodity,” answered Roosevelt. “I have never believed in wasting it.” He paused. “Bill Taft will almost certainly run for re-election in 1912. I’d like to make him a gift of the Congo as an American protectorate before he leaves office.”
“You expect to civilize this whole country in six years?” asked Boyes in amused disbelief.
“Why not?” answered Roosevelt seriously. “God made the whole world in just six days, didn’t He?”
4
They remained in camp for two days, with Roosevelt becoming more and more restless to begin his vast undertaking. Finally he convinced Boyes to trek across the mountain range, and a week later they set up a base camp on the eastern border of the Belgian Congo.
The ex-President was overflowing with energy. When Boyes would awaken at sunrise, Roosevelt had already written ten or twelve pages, and was undergoing his daily regimen of vigorous exercise. By nine in the morning he was too restless to remain in camp, and he would take a tracker and a bearer out to hunt some game for the pot. In the heat of the day, while Boyes and the porters slept in the shade, Roosevelt sat in a canvas chair beside his tent, reading from the 60-volume library that accompanied him everywhere. By late afternoon it was time for a long walk and an hour of serious bird-watching, followed by still more writing and then dinner. And always, as he sat beside the fire with Boyes and those poachers who had begun making their way to the base camp, he would speak for hours, firing them with his vision for the Congo and discussing how best to accomplish it. Then, somewhere between nine and ten at night, everyone would go off to bed, and while the others slept, Roosevelt’s tent was always aglow with lantern light as he read for another hour.
Boyes decided that if Roosevelt weren’t given something substantial to do he might spontaneously combust with nervous energy. Therefore, since 33 members of his little company had already arrived, he broke camp and assumed that the remaining 15 to 20 men would be able to follow their trail.
They spent two days tracking down a large bull elephant and his young askaris, came away with fourteen tusks, six of them quite large, and then marched them 20 miles north to a Belgian outpost. They traded the tusks for seven blooded horses, left three of their party behind to acquire more ivory and trade it for the necessary number of horses, and then headed south into Mangbetu country.
They were quite a group. There was Deaf Banks, who had lost his hearing from proximity to repeated elephant gun explosions, but had refused to quit Africa or even leave the bush, and had shot more than 500 elephants. There was Bill Buckley, a burly Englishman who had given up his gold mine in Rhodesia for the white gold he found further north. There was Mickey Norton, who had spent a grand total of three days in cities during the past twenty years. There was Charlie Ross, who had left his native Australia to become a Canadian Mountie, then decided that the life was too tame and emigrated to Africa. There was Billy Pickering, who had already served two sentences in Belgian jails for ivory poaching, and had his own notions concerning how to civilize the Congo. There were William and Richard Brittlebanks, brothers who had found hunting in the Klondike to be too cold for their taste, and had been poaching ivory in the Sudan for the better part of a decade. There was even an American, Yank Rogers, one of Roosevelt’s former Rough Riders, who had no use for the British or the Belgians, but joined up the moment he heard that his beloved Teddy was looking for volunteers. Only the fabled Karamojo Bell, who had just killed his 962nd elephant and was eager to finally bag his thousandth, refused to leave the Lado.
It was understood from the start that Boyes was Roosevelt’s lieutenant, and the few who choose to argue the point soon found out just how much strength and determination lay hidden within his scrawny, five foot two inch body. After a pair of fist fights and a threatened pistol duel, which Roosevelt himself had to break up, the chain of command was never again challenged.
They began marching south and west, moving further from the border and into more heavily forested territory as they sought out the Mangbetu. By the time a week had passed, eighteen more men had joined them.
On the eighth day they came to a large village. The huts were made of dried cattle dung with thatched roofs, and were clustered around a large central compound.
The inhabitants still spoke Swahili and explained that the Mangbetu territory was another two days’ march to the south. Boyes had the Brittlebanks brothers shoot a couple of bushbuck and a duiker, and made a gift of the meat to the village. He promised to bring them still more meat upon their return, explaining to Roosevelt that this was a standard practice, as one never knew when one might need a friendly village while beating a hasty retreat.
Roosevelt was eager to meet the Mangbetu, and he got his wish two mornings later, shortly after sunrise, when they came upon a Mangbetu village in a large clearing by a river.
“I wonder how many white men they’ve seen before?” said Roosevelt as a couple of hundred painted Mangbetu, some of them wearing blankets and leopardskin cloaks in the cold morning air, gathered in the center of the village, brandishing their spears and staring at the approaching party.
“They’ve probably eaten their fair share of Belgians,” replied Boyes. “At any rate, they’ll know what a rifle is, so we’d better display them.”
“They can see that we have them,” answered Roosevelt. “That’s enough.”
“But sir—”
“We’ve come to befriend them, not decimate them, John. Keep the men back here so they don’t feel that we’re threatening them,” ordered Roosevelt.
“Mr. President, sir,” protested Mickey Norton, “please listen to me. I’ve had experience dealing with savages. We all have. You’ve got to show ‘em who’s boss.”
“They’re not savages, Mr. Norton,” said Roosevelt.
“Then what are they?”
Roosevelt grinned. “Voters.” He climbed down off his horse. “They’re our constituents, and I think I’d like to meet them on equal footing.”
“Then you’d better take off all your clothes and get a spear.”
“That will be enough, Mr. Norton,” said Roosevelt firmly.
One old man, wearing a headdress made of a lion’s mane and ostrich feathers, seated himself on a stool outside the largest hut, and a number of warriors immediately positioned themselves in front of him.
“Would that be the chief?” asked Roosevelt.
“Probably,” said Boyes. “Once in a while, you get a real smart chief who puts someone else on the throne and disguises himself as a warrior, just in case you’re here to kill him. But since the Mangbetu rule this territory, I think we can assume that he’s really the headman.”
“Nice headdress,” commented Roosevelt admiringly. He handed his rifle to Norton. “John, leave your gun behind and come with me. The rest of you men, wait here.”
“Would you like us to fan out around the village, sir?” suggested Charlie Ross.
Roosevelt shook his head. “If they’ve seen rifles before, it won’t be necessary, and if they haven’t, then it wouldn’t do any good.”
“Is there anything we can do, sir?”
“Try smiling,” answered Roosevelt. “Come on, John.”
They began approaching the cluster of warriors. A dog raced up, barking furiously. Roosevelt ignored it, and when it saw that it had failed to intimidate them, it lay down in the dust with an almost human expression of disappointment on its face and watched the two men walk past.
The warriors began murmuring, softly at first, then louder, and someone began beating a primal rhythm on the drum.
“The Lado is looking better and better with every step we take,” commented Boyes under his breath.
“They’re just people, John,” Roosevelt assured him.
“With very unusual dietary habits,” muttered Boyes.
“If you’re worried, I can always have Yank act as my interpreter.”
“I’m not worried about dying,” answered Boyes. “I just do
n’t want to go down in the history books as the man who led Teddy Roosevelt into a Mangbetu cooking pot.”
Roosevelt chuckled. “If it happens, there won’t be any survivors to write about it. Now try to be a little more optimistic.” He looked ahead at the assembled Mangbetu. “What do you suppose would happen if we walked right up to the chief?”
“He’s got a couple of pretty mean-looking young bucks standing on each side of him,” noted Boyes. “I wish we had our rifles.”
“We won’t need them, John,” Roosevelt assured him. “I was always surrounded by the Secret Service when I was President—but they never interfered with my conduct of my office.”
***
They were close enough now to smell the various oils that the Mangbetu had rubbed onto their bodies, and to see some of the patterns that had been tattooed onto their faces and torsos.
“Just keep smiling,” answered Roosevelt. “We’re unarmed, and our men are keeping their distance.”
“Why do we have to smile?” asked Boyes.
“First, to show that we’re happy to see them,” said Roosevelt. “And second, to show them that we don’t file our teeth.”
The Mangbetu brandished their spears threateningly as Roosevelt reached them, but the old headman uttered a single command and they parted, allowing the two men a narrow path to the chief. When they got to within eight feet of him, however, four large bodyguards stepped forward and barred their way.
“John, tell him that I’m the King of America, and that I bring him greetings and felicitations.”
Boyes translated Roosevelt’s message. The chief stared impassively at him, and the four warriors did not relax their posture.
“Tell him that my country has no love for the Belgians.”
Boyes uttered something in Swahili, and suddenly the old man seemed to show some interest. He nodded his head and responded.
“He says he’s got no use for them either.”
Roosevelt’s smile broadened. “Tell him we’re going to be great friends.”
Boyes spoke to the chief again. “He wants to know why.”
“Because I am going to bring him all the gifts of civilization, and I ask nothing in return except his friendship.”